


Hell's Wrestling Federation Proudly Presents: Satan Vs Zin The Destroyer of Worlds

by Scree_Kat



Series: Ineffable Parenthood [16]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ask and ye shall receive, Gen, The Hell Grudge Match I never knew I always wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24346243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scree_Kat/pseuds/Scree_Kat
Summary: Most demons are smart enough, or at least possessing enough self preservation instincts to avoid Satan's throne room at all costs. Even the Dukes avoid their Master, and are even less willing to pop in for a quick chat alone. Precious few demons return from a quick visit to Satan. Occasionally, though, there are anomalies.Zin, after Hermione's wise counsel, has decided that a change in leadership is well overdue. Satan is unimpressed.Beelzebub is just trying not to laugh and shake the camera.
Series: Ineffable Parenthood [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429525
Comments: 57
Kudos: 282





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Baykit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baykit/gifts).



For all the disgustingness of Hell, it was always more about aesthetic than poor design. Satan and his Unrighteous Hand wanted to terrorise the underlings and mortals, not deal with mess and accident reports for eternity. Hell wasn't about self inflicted punishments, after all, and it certainly wasn't anything near fun to make _themselves_ suffer. Walkways were free of tripping hazards, door hinges were oiled to perfect silence... or at least, _almost_ all doors were silent. It made sense to keep them creaky and ominous in interrogation rooms, both to increase the fear of whatever moron was in for a very bad day, and to give a warning if someone tried to escape. Not all humans were prone to sitting frozen, and only one had ever been the sort to stay simply because it gave them the greatest potential for mass carnage. Those with instincts turned to fight or flight instead of freeze had an understandable, if irritating, habit of trying to run away.

Only two other doors were noisy. Satan and Beelzebub were both rather insistent that the doors to their throne rooms creak, though they could turn it off as required to allow themselves to sneak about as wanted. Oh, Beelzebub hated the sound, of course, almost as much as buzzing, but it meant that demons couldn't just stride in and catch them unawares. While reading magazines in front of the Dukes was a rather fun way to show the utterly unimportant nature of whatever drivel they happened to be yammering about at any given moment, being caught 'acting human' by the lesser demons was likely to cause a riot. 

Yet another unexpected result of the internment of Hermione Crowley. The sight of a simple magazine had sent far too many demons into hysterics, and they'd had to be kept hidden from the rabble in order to let the poor mental health consultants go back to the fire and brimstone for a bit of a rest.

Demons were fucking exhausting. Like herding cats, or worse, toddlers. 

The door rarely creaked without a polite and hesitant knocking, so hearing it creak open without warning was enough to put Beelzebub's coldest scowl firmly in place. They were right in the middle of a good bit of the fanfiction Hermione had sent them (fanfiction, of course, was the sort of creation Beelzebub loved, even if it were created by Crowley. The constant tension between stealing, borrowing and improving tended to get certain mortals incredibly, blind-ragingly stroppy, and the number of writers and critics willing to barter their souls for a shred of success was frankly staggering). They barely had time to conceal their phone before a demon strode into the room, all false bravado and idiocy. 

It was going to be one of _those_ days, then. 

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow, forced themselves to maintain a suitably enraged expression- looking half a heartbeat from murderous tended to put even the most pig-headed of demons back into place swiftly- and waited for the demon to apologise, taking his measure as they did so. He was dressed all in black, leather jacket covered in sharp, rusty items that looked utterly haphazard, and nowhere near firmly attached judging by the pieces dangling miserably as wind chimes on a still day. His scalp, too, looked like he'd gone overboard with Hell's DIY bedazzler (also known as a bottle of child safe glue), most just rusted tacks and pins, probably the easiest things to find. There was an addition, seemingly new given that it gleamed pristine silver, highly polished until there wasn't even a trace of fingerprint oil to be found. A railway spike was an odd choice, and the effect on his overall aesthetic was rather jarring, so that it seemed to Beelzebub like a particularly haughty, leather-clad, humanoid Gothic unicorn were storming the room. 

Gabriel would love it. 

'I am Zin, the Destroyer of Worlds-' Beelzebub snorted, recognising the name and taking far too much enjoyment in interrupting the demon upstart. 

'You are Zin, the Destroyer of No Worlds Whatsoever, and you have ten seconds to explain why you have inflicted yourself upon me.'

Zin shook off his startle a little too well, though the haughty look didn't return. 'I am here to challenge Satan for control of Hell.'

Beelzebub laughed. The demon didn't join in. Rather, Zin looked utterly incensed that this was the response to their pronouncement. 

Beelzebub laughed harder. 


	2. Chapter 2

Demons, generally, were not meant to laugh, given that it showed far too much joy and niceness for the denizens of Hell to be comfortable with. But a strong, mocking laugh was another thing altogether, and Beelzebub savoured the chance to wipe every last morsel of smugness from Zin's face. Wiping tears away absently, stomach aching from the ongoing bouts of booming laughter, Beelzebub struggled not to look at Zin's red and blotchy face, his overly large mouth agape and eyes blown the sort of wide that screamed theatricality rather than natural expression. Looks of surprise do not generally linger long, after all, and holding one for almost eight minutes had to be getting painful. Every time Beelzebub caught a glimpse of the angry demon pretending to be shocked, they started laughing again, and the demon was getting increasingly offended at the sound. 

Of course causing offense was an utterly demonish thing to do overall, but only to a point: up until the misery of others began to irritate you. Watching Zin stomp a meaty foot against the ground, it seemed increasingly likely that much more offense causing was liable to result in the demon whining about rudeness or some such. A touch of demonic magic was enough to hide the phone suddenly out and recording- Hermione would no doubt love to see her handiwork in action, and Satan would probably enjoy the chance to watch the entire ridiculous thing play out once he'd finished cleaning the gore from his horns. 

Struggling to contain their amusement, Beelzebub cleared their throat, and forced their expression back towards suitably irritated. 'You presume to challenge Satan, our Rightful Leader? There are easier deaths to choose if you truly tire of survival. I'm sure the angels would loan you some holy water...' They were rather proud that they managed the whole pronouncement without a single trace of a giggle. 

'Rightful leader? He botched Armageddon! Hell is a bloody shambles, and we lost to a bloody primary schooler! That's not leadership, that's a disaster. The rules are clear, Beelzebub-'

'That is _Lord_ Beelzebub to you, Destroyer of Nothing Beyond My Patience'.

Zin scowled, tried to run a hand through non-existent hair (hand raised high to avoid an incidental stabbing), and smacked the railway spike instead, the look of surprise, as though Zin had forgotten the silver stake super glued to his head, almost enough to start Beelzebub laughing again. The fly atop their head buzzed in malicious amusement that left Zin's hands clenched to fists at his sides. 'You have inflicted your presence upon me, demanding my time and attention, ignoring the rules and courtesies I am owed as Lord of Hell, to ask my aid in waging war against a leader who has worked tirelessly to keep all demons safe? I suggest, Zin, that you rethink your choices. Satan does not show mercy to lesser demons who think themselves stronger than their leader.' 

This was the moment most demons faltered, realising that talking shit about the boss was rather different to waging war against him, and while certainly demonish enough to get greedy, they were rather normal sized compared to the far larger, meaner, and more powerful King of Hell. Most, when realising they'd been about to yank a dragon's tail, had the sense to stop, get sheepish, and hurry away to lick their metaphoric wounds in private. Beelzebub could see it in Zin's eyes- he wasn't going to back down. The chaos would be _glorious._

'He will respond to my challenge, or be deemed coward by us all.' And weren't they the magic words? Beelzebub smiled, a milk-curdling, horrifying smile, and stood abruptly, Zin flinching backwards instinctively at the motion. 

'If you're so eager to die, let us not keep oblivion waiting.' Storming from the throne room, savouring the sounds of Zin hurrying to catch up, Beelzebub willed the camera to turn, to take in whatever idiotic expression was staining Zin's features as he was left to jog past those he would typically be boasting to or risk getting lost. It wasn't that Satan's throne room was hidden, more that demons made a point of not getting too curious, worried they'd be expected to actually meet their maker, as it were. This meant that only the Lord and Dukes knew Satan's office hours, though the Dukes, like the rabble, tended to prefer avoiding their King as much as possible. Cowards. Satan, when not smiting and seeking Armageddon, was getting damned good in the kitchen, and his taco nights were unmissable. 

The further Beelzebub strode, the fewer demons there were to distract Zin, though once the others realised in which direction they were headed, they quickly found other things to do, well away from their former friend. Knowing the general vicinity of the King's rooms meant that most demons avoided that region of Hell, oblivious to the fact that they were essentially hiding from an utterly average door. Overly large, and fond of fire and brimstone, it wasn't as though Satan could actually _fit_ easily in the rather normal sized spaces they occupied. No, the King of Hell lived below their feet, and there was nowhere in Hell where you were not painfully close to your Master, even without realising it. 

Beelzebub turned left abruptly, more to see if Zin was paying attention, leaning against the wall and watching the lesser demon hurry past, and straight into the dead end. 'Oh, fuck,' Zin mumbled, Beelzebub forcing themselves not to laugh, but to shift into a more authoritarian position, a minor demonic miracle removing any trace of filth from their clothing as they silently counted the seconds until Zin found them. Five minutes passed, almost impressive given there was only one turning point, and Beelzebub's location certainly wasn't hidden from view. Bored, Beelzebub popped their head around the corner to investigate, getting treated to the sight of Zin the Destroyer of Imaginary Worlds giving himself a pep talk as he stood, nose almost touching the wall. 

Beelzebub had to pause a moment to stifle their amusement, settling their best scowl into place before clearing their throat as theatrically as an old, dull human noticing young lovers holding hands and feeling utterly, agonisingly offended by the shamelessness of such gestures. 'If you plan to stand their muttering, I'll take my leave. I have wasted enough time on this foolishness.'

'I'm coming, Beelze- _Lord_ Beelzebub. Apologies.' A quick glare had reminded him of protocol, at least. A raised eyebrow had Zin hurrying forward, and Beelzebub made a point of rolling their eyes before striding back towards the Staircase of Doom. There was an elevator, of course, hidden in Beelzebub's own throne room. After all, they had infinitely better things to do than work their leg muscles unnecessarily just to get a document signed, but a few thousand stairs tended to give the more boastful of demons time enough to contemplate their life choices. Only three mutineers had ever completed the ten thousand step descent. None had ever made their way to a return trip. 

Beelzebub couldn't help but think Zin would raise the count to four.


	3. Chapter 3

Typically, demons were rather noisy on the downwards jaunt, either demanding answers to questions they hoped would help them win (foolishly assuming Beelzebub was utterly truthful seemed a rather un-demonic way to waste the last minutes of their life) or psyching themselves up with some trash talking of the boss. 

Zin, either too vain or stupid to seek counsel (Beelzebub doubted he was too sensible to assume dishonesty), and having already psyched himself up while standing in the metaphorical corner, contented himself with asking for Beelzebub's opinion on his new, unfortunately phallic, head wear. Beelzebub, then, rather enjoyed their brisk journey. No fewer than sixty nine dick jokes, fifty three unicorn quips, and a suitably scathing critique of the overall aesthetic of a gleaming silver cock amidst a sea of tiny rusted things and the imagined amusement of any mortal he'd encounter passed their lips, and the fly atop their head buzzed gleefully at the way Zin's footfalls, originally keeping near perfect time with Beelzebub's own, began to slow to a weary, huffy trudge. Beelzebub hoped the camera was getting decent footage of Zin's expression, because they could feel the hurt and frustration rolling outwards from the demon like he were a living, poorly decorated heater on a cold winter's day. 

It was hard not to grin, to turn back and savour the look of dejection. 

It was almost, almost, impressive that despite it all Zin still refused to call off his makeshift crusade. To be stomped down so utterly and keep fighting was hardly a typically demonic trait, and if he could refocus that egotistical drive for control into rising up the ranks appropriately, the demon could actually be a risk to the hierarchy, could possibly even usurp Beezlebub one day. Oh, it would take a long, long while- Beelzebub would need to be incredibly old and feeble, an unlikely set of circumstances for an immortal being, but even so, the demon was veering dangerously close to becoming a credible threat.

Contrary to popular belief, Beelzebub didn't relish in the decimation of demonic ranks- the Dukes might think it funny to feed the underlings to the hounds, or even just kill them for a lark, but Beelzebub knew better than to waste talent, or cannon fodder, on fits of pique. There was a war coming, after all, and even the lowliest of demons could be useful as a rather unimpressed shield if required (shields, it must be noted, were rather important when your enemy could decimate the ranks with little more than a super soaker or a garden hose). Gritting their teeth at the very thought of giving one more chance to turn back, Beelzebub took the final step, paused, and turned to face the destroyer of a perfectly good afternoon. It took two whole minutes for him to emerge from the gloom and join them.

'You are brave, demon. I'll give you that. Only four others have ventured this far; all others have turned back.' They pointed to a small, offensively ordinary looking door, far too small for the demon behind it to venture through. Zin stared at the door with an awed sort of horror, his face suddenly slack and pale as his brain hopefully caught up with his ego and started looking for an escape route. 'Once I knock on that door, there is no turning back. Satan will know of your efforts, and respond accordingly. However, should you change your mind now, there will be no repercussions. You are fearless, and you are strong, and there would certainly be a place for you within the ranks, and opportunities for advancement. None will think less of you for a tactical retreat.'

He nodded, head lowered, his hand covering his mouth in a way that, on a mortal, would look rather like him trying to hold back a scream or projectile vomit. They had expected a bob or two of the head, but the demon kept nodding, over and over, a methodical bouncing of his head as though he were greatly enjoying whatever hold music his brain were providing him with. Had he forgotten he was doing it? That... that was not good. Deciding to let the demon take his time, Beelzebub leaned against the wall (decorated to look disgusting, and yet one of the cleanest spaces in Hell. Satan, it must be noted, was rather obsessive about cleanliness). One minute passed, then two. Three and four and five minutes lingered between them like a particularly rancid fart, and then Zin stormed to the door, knocking loudly.

'Enter.'

Zin turned, offered Beelzebub a panicked look before resolutely turning back to the greater threat, hand shaking violently even as he wrenched the door open.

Let the festivities begin. 


	4. Chapter 4

Beelzebub was not an idiot. One did not wander down to the boss's lair without alerting him to your intentions, and they'd long since sent a warning to give Satan time to get into Malevolent Overlord mode. The first time they'd brought a demon down to challenge Satan, they hadn't alerted him. In fairness, they hadn't known how to at that point. He'd been in an impressively large bubblebath when he'd called 'enter', assuming it was simply Beelzebub with some business or other to be discussed, and not even bothering to remove the hand-made bonnets keeping his horns dry. Though the battle lasted all of twenty seconds (Satan quite literally stomping out the competition) and the pair could laugh about it now, it had taken centuries to get to that point, and a clearly defined set of steps to take to ensure Satan never again had to duel to the death while covered in glittery pink bubbles, gentle jazz playing soothingly in the background. As amusingly gruesome as it had been to see glittery demon remnants, it was an image that didn't require repetition. 

Pushing Zin aside, Beelzebub stepped forward, and bowed low to the gigantic figure sprawled indulgently upon an equally gigantic throne made entirely of demon bones. Had any demon in the history of throne visits (beyond Beelzebub, who got their job for a reason) ever taken a moment to reflect, they might ask how it might be that Satan's rather uncomfortable throne looked brand new, utterly unused. They might ponder how not a single bone had been broken over years of use under the rather ginormous arse of their leader. Then again, the decor tended to be the last thing on the minds of the majority of demons being introduced to Satan. 

'Hail to the King. My Lord, I present to you Zin, a demon of the lower ranks who has taken issue with the current running of Hell.' Satan raised an eyebrow in mockery of surprise, his nails clicking against thankfully empty demonic eye sockets as he leaned forward to inspect the comparatively tiny Zin. Beelzebub stepped back to enjoy the carnage. Zin, surprisingly, worked to hold his nerve as the gaze of Hell's ruler settled upon him with a ruthless sort of intensity.

'Oh, do they? Do you feel yourself suited to my throne, worm? Do you imagine yourself taking it from me?' Satan grinned, a feral, predatory sort of a grin that made Zin instinctively wish for his mother, and he'd never even liked her or felt particularly safe in her presence. It was the sort of grin Beelzebub imagined serial killers spent hours practicing in front of mirrors without ever coming close to such mastery, the sort that made even the most sadistic spree killer's efforts look utterly adorable, the sort of grin that made you lament not only your own life choices, but the life choices of every ancestor that in any way contributed to your arrival from wherever it was little demons came from. 'Could you even climb so high?' Beelzebub snickered, and Zin offered them a betrayed scowl at the sound that went utterly unnoticed. 

'Tell me, worm, what would you do better? How would you, one whose greatest achievement is the supergluing of a small metallic cock to their own head, bring glory to Hell?'

Bringing his metal dildo into the conversation seemed to pep Zin up a little, and though his face might burn with humiliation, his eyes were enraged coals. 'And how the hell do you think you bring glory to Hell? Sitting around like a turd on a throne, losing the Apocalypse to two failures and a tween? Oooh, very scary.'

Beelzebub raised a single eyebrow in surprise. Zin, for all his faults, was the first demon to stand up to Satan rather than stutter out nonsense. Even Beelzebub hesitated to speak honestly before the King of Hell, unwilling to risk his ire. The idea that somebody would come into his home and... sass him? Unthinkable. And utterly brilliant. Of course, they created themselves a bowl of popcorn and a comfortable chair and settled in.

Zin had found his groove, clearly, as he strode through the room, gesturing so violently it looked as though he were picking fights with his imaginary friends. 'What would I do? Well for a start I wouldn't cower in my lair like a little bitch. I'd bring the war to fruition! Who needs a bloody Antichrist? We've got legions of demons, ready to conquer!' Satan was looking at him as though Zin were a particularly interesting bug, the sort he was preparing to pin, still squirming, onto a collection board somewhere. Beneath that, though, shone the tiniest hint of respect. 

It was a shame Beelzebub couldn't stop the fight, couldn't just assign Zin as a Duke and watch the others lose their collective shit. Such petty raging was always good for a laugh. Satan, though, was certainly not laughing, nor giving Zin the opportunity to back down. 

'Then choose your weapon, worm.'

Zin clicked his fingers, a small metal box appearing at his feet. 'Choose your own.' Oh, now this was going to be interesting. 

It got infinitely more interesting when Zin opened the box to reveal a thick pair of gloves, the sort you'd expect to see a scientist in a nuclear lab wearing, and a smaller, seemingly rusted box.


	5. Chapter 5

The fun part of being a demon lies in the ability to bend reality to your will. The capacity to terrorise physicists by pulling a full sized house out of a trouser pocket like a particularly odd magician added a layer of festivities to the day, and kept things interesting. Like being The Doctor, without the silly box and saving people. Hermione, of course, had introduced them to Doctor Who, after pointing out that Beelzebub had a habit of 'tardising' things from their pockets. The agony of ever changing lead actors and the abundance of angst riddled fanfiction was utterly delightful. 

Given their own tendency towards theatricality, Beelzebub wasn't surprised to see Zin's gloved hand reaching far further into the tiny box than should be possible. Within moments, the hand in the box became an arm up to the elbow, then almost to the shoulder. 

_Curiouser and curiouser._

There were, of course, many things rumoured to be fatal to the King of Hell. Humans throughout history had told themselves fairytales of potential ways to keep Satan well away from themselves and their loved ones. Utter bunk, of course, and usually the sort that forgot that Satan was an archangel once, not just a run of the mill demon that could be dealt with using a few words of Latin or a blue glass eyeball. Given that Satan didn't actually wander the earth granting evil wishes like a big-ass evil Santa, and left the inspiring of wickedness and corruption to the minions, who very much _were_ foiled by beadwork, prayer, or bags of particularly stinky herbs, the belief lingered that Satan was fairly easy to ward off, all things considered. 

Even demons had their own myths about what could kill their leader- though those myths had all been created by Satan and Beelzebub one drunken weekend when Satan wanted to learn to make cocktails. Mostly, these fool-proof (well, fool _proving_ , really) mortality makers involved epic quests for secret holy relics that weren't actually secret sacred relics so much as they were random cheap shit Beelzebub had found during a drunken 2am supplies run (Beelzebub had removed the 'made in China' stickers themselves, and thrown them into various bogs and undersea trenches. One was in an active volcano, demonic magic all that kept it from melting. Caves were far too quick and easy to deal with, after all. Traitors would need to work infinitely harder for their failures than they'd hope). 

To Beelzebub's knowledge, there were 870 myths around ways to defeat, and kill, Satan. So the golden fiddle Zin hefted above his head came as a hell of a surprise. Beaming, Beelzebub clicked their fingers, letting 'The Devil Went Down to Georgia' start playing softly in the background. Zin spun to them, scowling as though it was Beelzebub ruining the super serious and important moment. Satan shot them a bemused look, but rather than drawing a weapon of his own, settled back onto his chair.

'I was unaware you were going to play me a song before your death, worm. Go ahead, dazzle me.' 

Rather than reaching for a bow, Zin lobbed the violin at the comparably more gigantic Satan, the golden instrument bouncing lightly off of an enormous, red knee. Satan quirked a rather massive eyebrow, looking at his knee in faux surprise. 'Am I meant to say ouch?'

871.

Zin's mouth fell into a near corpse-like gape as he looked at the violin. Then Satan. Then the violin. A full minute past as he simply stared at the violin in surprise that it hadn't, somehow, vanquished Satan. The string of curse words Zin let loose when he snapped back into awareness were certainly inventive, and clearly held little understanding of any kind of physiology, mortal or demon, though at least he appeared to be rallying. He didn't seem to notice that Satan had settled in to enjoy the show, too busy forcing his now shaking hand back into the box.

The sound of rummaging was loud in the silence, the sort of clanging you'd expect from an irate housewife rather than a demon attempting a weapon-riddled coup. Beelzebub chanced a look at Satan, nestled comfortably into his throne, his expression the sort of completely and totally bored he'd last worn when watching a particularly tedious soap opera. With a triumphant laugh tinged with just a hint of hysteria, Zin drew out a chunk of wood, brandishing it as though it were something infinitely more interesting than part of a failed DIY project. This was, in fact, exactly what the item in question was. Said chunk of wood was created when their drunken craft corner efforts had gone rather less well than they'd hoped. It had, in fact, been the item that inspired said 2am jaunt for supplies. Beelzebub would know this particular piece of junk anywhere. Having the King of Hell almost brain you with a chunk of wood- accidental though it had been- tended to make even the most tediously dull looking hunk of wood rather memorable.

'Is this a talent show now? Are you planning to whittle your way out of trouble?' Beelzebub shouldn't, strictly, be talking, but the bark of laughter from their boss was at least a sign they weren't in trouble. No doubt Satan was as curious, but far less willing to lower themselves to asking.

'A piece of the crucifix used to murder Jesus Christ. Part of the most sacred of relics.' So he'd actually believed the stories? They hadn't even tried with that one! The whole story was flimsy at best, no effort put into either creation or implementation. It also had the hardest scavenger hunt to even figure out where it was hidden, let alone to actually retrieve it. Still, that dead god-kid energy would always be a draw card. And it'd explain the gloves, at least. Clearly taking his motion cues from the sort of cartoons that had baseball pitchers wind-milling their arms before throwing, he tossed the not-so priceless trinket at Satan. This time, the piece of wood landed on Satan's bare foot, as small as a prickle, and about as deadly. 

'Oh no! ThE HOrROR tHE AgONy!' How Satan could emote so spectacularly without moving, sounding utterly panicked even while his eyes were calm and blank... didn't warrant thinking about, truth be told. Beelzebub certainly didn't want to think about it, let alone acknowledge the shiver that was working its way up and down their spine like a rather energetic worm. So they laughed instead, laughing harder when the foolish demon used the same throw style for a handful of salt. At least until the realities of gravity and idiocy revealed themselves to Zin, and said handful of salt was thrown towards the floor barely a meter from Zin's own feet, a few grains somehow managing to find their way onto Satan's foot. Zin leapt back with a pained hiss as a few grains bounced back onto himself. Satan raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and Beelzebub could almost swear they saw said eyebrow open two small, blazing red eyes to stare Zin down in a particularly judgemental sort of displeasure about the mess. 

Chalk up another thing it wouldn't do to think too deeply about. 

Beelzebub stopped laughing, clicked their fingers and sent the roomba in to deal with the mess before the Boss could get too irritated about it. Distracted by ensuring the roomba picked up every last grain of salt, they missed the next attack entirely until Satan's 'what the actual fuck?' caught their attention.

Sitting on Satan's toe, looking about as baffled as the oversized demon, a chameleon sat, head darting around as though looking for some place to hide. 

'Who throws a fucking lizard? Honestly? A violin, sure, it's funny. But a lizard? _What is wrong with you?_ Who even told you any of this shit?'

Zin seemed to take Satan's growing temper as a sign he was starting to wear the larger demon down, rather than the warning to run the hell away it clearly was. He puffed out his chest in pride, muttering 'Crowley' like it wasn't the worst possible thing that he could say. 

Satan's eyes looked ready to leap from his skull in surprise, not that Beelzebub felt any more put together at the pronouncement. Still, it made sense. If anyone but Satan and Beelzebub was going to shamelessly lie about how to kill the boss, spinning bullshit with that sort of reckless abandon, it would be Crowley. The thing about demons (and angels, given demons _were_ angels way back when) was that, overall, they weren't a particularly clever bunch. Oh, sure, there was the odd smart one, or those ambitious enough to develop their intellect in order to get ahead, but most were happy enough to just plod on in eternal obedience. They'd never think that Satan could actually be killed, let alone killed by one as lowly as themselves. Look at him. Gigantic red monster, the full powers of hell at his disposal. Only a rampant narcissist would think they could kill him. 

The few who thought themselves worthy were usually easy enough to fool with a painful quest and a quick deep sea dive or lava bath (funny how none of the demons paused to wonder how mortals could have ever hidden items in such spaces centuries ago _without magic or technology_ , but there was a reason Beelzebub didn't think too highly of their underlings. It was genuinely rare to find someone smart enough not only to realise that everything dies (even Death, one day, would cease to be), but to realise that meant that Satan could be killed and do the overwhelming amounts of research required to figure out exactly how to off him. 

Beelzebub, it must be noted, was well aware of how to kill Satan- cunning though they may be, it was their intellect that first caught Satan's attention. After all, any demon can be cruel, but it's a rarity to find one capable of even rudimentary reasoning.

Beelzebub, it must also be noted, did nothing at a rudimentary level.

Satan had told them the big secret on one of their first drunken benders, not that Beelzebub hadn't already been well aware of the necessary steps for centuries. And for centuries, they had guarded the secret, even sending demons off on wild goose chases if they seemed anywhere near close to starting to figure things out. Much as Beelzebub enjoyed the power they had, they had little interest in taking over Hell completely. Demons were remarkably frustrating, idiotic creatures- killing Satan would leave _them_ having to deal with the ridiculousness of Hell on their own. 

Beelzebub was far too clever to sign on for something like _that_.

Besides, Satan was one of their best friends. Originally their only friend, really, before Hastur had dragged Hermione to Hell. Even Satan was rather fond of the girl, not that he was able to pop by for a spot of tea (he rather stood out, being gigantic and bright red) or bring her down for a meet and greet (she rather stood out, being clearly human and the closest thing to the boogie man the demonic population had ever known). She had potential, and had done more to improve upon Hell's training and productivity than the threat of the apocalypse- or the wrath of the Dukes- had ever managed. They might actually stand a chance at the next apocalypse, as long as Crowley and Aziraphale kept their noses out of it.

Of all the demons, Crowley was one of the few likely to figure out how Satan could actually be killed. Truthfully, Beelzebub often wondered if the demon already knew the secret- he was ridiculously clever in his own easy to miss way- and wondered whether he was simply too nice to use it himself or too sensible to give it to somebody who'd actually try to use it. It would explain this ridiculousness. Especially if he'd slipped up, and a demon had discovered that he knew.

Then again, he was a enough of a smarmy git to think sending a demon to their death by combat with a rubber chicken as their weapon of choice was the height of comedy.

He wasn't exactly _wrong_.

Satan seemed to be trying to formulate a response that didn't involve braining a particularly thoughtless demon with their own golden violin, so Beelzebub felt it wise to gather some information while the boss collected himself. 'You believed the traitor Crowley when he told you that you could defeat Satan himself... with a lizard?' Another nod. At least the smug smile had fallen away to worry. 'Was it at least a blessed lizard?'

And wasn't that a question they never expected to ask in a duel to the death?

Zin shook his head. 'I hadn't thought of that. Would probably have been a good idea, huh?'

Well, at least they didn't have to figure out if Zin had actually taken a lizard to a priest and brought an actual living weapon into Hell. The demons had been traumatised enough recently, no sense adding a lizard panic to the mix. Huffing a sigh, Beelzebub levitated the chameleon to themselves, getting it out of the way before the inevitable violence ensued. They'd take it to Crowley, let him deal with rehoming it. It was his fault the blessed thing was loose in Hell, anyway. When Zin was frantically reaching into the box for his next abject failure, Satan nodded subtly to Beelzebub. On the surface, the devil looked unbothered by it all. Only someone who'd known him for aeons would recognise the slight hint of unease or the tension around his eyes. 

For all the big, scary demon con, Satan, oddly, had a _thing_ about lizards. It wasn't that he was scared of them, of course not. That would be like a mortal being afraid of a flea. He hid it well, really, but he'd shared more than enough rants about the tricksy little bastards out to get him that Beelzebub was well aware that he did not like or trust lizards, or want lizards anywhere around him, let alone demons who wore them as living head gear. How Ligur managed a dukeship with a chameleon on his head, Beelzebub never knew, but they were more than aware that Satan had been thrilled to never have another meeting with a demon wearing a lizard hat, and had immediately added rules about the dukedom to ensure there would be no more lizards involved. 

All things considered, lobbing a lizard at Satan was not the wisest of choices, memorable though it undoubtedly was. 

The crucifix thrown next was only slightly better received, given that it bounced off of the throne's arm and landed on Satan's lap. Satan eyed it a moment before flicking it away towards Zin. It was almost, almost worth it to see Zin shriek and throw himself out of the way of the cheap plastic decoration. 

'I grow weary of this idiocy, worm. Are we to fight, or do you plan to continue your pitiful attempt at a magic show?'

Zin simply shoved his arm back into the box.


	6. Chapter 6

Beelzebub huffed a loud, unimpressed sigh, smirking as Zin turned to offer them a scowl and a muttered 'rude', and settled in to see what the hell else was going to happen. 

Zin was soon distracted, though, their focus all for the box their arm had vanished into, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'come here, you little bastard' between a slew of curse words that made even Beelzebub feel a little squeamish. 

Finally, Zin shouted gleefully, raising a seemingly empty hand skyward in triumph. 

'You've decided to fight me... with air?'

Zin elected to ignore Satan completely. How he could, given the hilarity of Satan's gigantic, utterly baffled face, Beelzebub had no idea, but they grudgingly respected Zin's ability to do so. 'In the beginning, God created Eden, and all the animals therein.'

Strictly speaking, that wasn't true. The angels had done the grunt work for creating every element of God's great craft project, with the big disembodied voice in the sky giving irritatingly cryptic 'help' every so often. It had taken Crowley- before demonhood- an eternity to get even one constellation just so, because his understanding of aqua and Gods were infinitesimally different. Beelzebub had spent aeons getting the swirling patterns of Jupiter just right, back in the day. It had been angels who'd attached every feather, designed every fur pattern. But none of them quite knew where the hell the snakes came from. Beelzebub, however, didn't feel now was the best time to launch into a history lesson, opted to keep their mouth shut and watch the chaos instead. 

'All knowing, God suspected her favoured son would turn against her, and created the ultimate weapon against him.'

'Air?'

'The Flea Of God.'

Beelzebub stared. Though, in fairness, so did Satan. There was, if Zin was meant to be believed, a blessed flea pinched between his heavily gloved fingers. They didn't mean to giggle, of course- giggling was a ridiculous, utterly un-evil sound, and Beelzebub _did not giggle._ And yet, the sound bubbled up and out of them like bile, turning to all consuming howls of mirth that left them gasping for air and clutching at their sides as cramps tried to stab away at their flesh. Through the tears, they could just see Satan, staring at them in mild concern, and Zin, forgetting himself and putting his hands on his hips like a disappointed parent. 

They weren't entirely sure how, but somehow, they found a way to laugh harder. It hurt, and yet, they couldn't stop. The chameleon had scurried behind them to hide on their back, and Beelzebub could feel the creature quaking nervously at the booming, thunderous laughter and undignified flailing. 

Minutes passed like decades as they fought to contain their amusement, and finally, Beelzebub managed to fall silent, offering a shaky bow to Satan. 'Apologies, my Lord.'

The King of Hell snorted. 'Understandable, given the circumstances. Are you aware, Zin, that you've just squashed the Flea Of God?' So he'd noticed, then. Beelzebub respected Satan's poker face more than ever, made a mental note to arrange a poker night with the Dukes as soon as possible.

Everything seemed to happen at once. Zin shrieked, threw the flea in his panic to check himself over for injuries. The flea, dazed and concussed but determined to gain freedom no matter the cost, leapt for its life. Towards Beelzebub.

Beelzebub rolled their eyes, mentally preparing for the demonic flea panic of... whatever the hell year it even was. They were pretty sure at least two had past just watching this clusterfuck.

The chameleon, sensing food, or potentially just a chance to appease the big demony things stomping and laughing about the room, scuttled to Beelebub's shoulder, tongue darting out to catch the flea and slam it down the lizard's gullet. 

Zin, Satan and Beelzebub stared at the lizard, Beelzebub pausing to pat it's head absently (saying 'whose a good lizard?!?' seemed a little much, all things considered). 

And then Satan stood, far more quickly than one would expect given his size. He didn't even get to look menacing as he strode authoritatively across the room, simply took half a step forward, raised up his foot, and stomped on Zin. 

For a moment, the Devil seemed to scowl towards the horizon in his victory. And then he leapt, howling and shrieking and cursing up a storm as Beelzebub stared at the squashed corpse dangling from Satan's foot like a particularly liquidy piece of gum, the ridiculous railway spike still somehow attached to Zin's head, and now embedded in Satan's foot, too. Beelzebub fought to hide their amusement, to school their face to bland obedience as the King of Hell hopped around the room caterwauling. 

'Get it off me!'

'Alright, alright, go sit down.'

As they hurried to fetch the first aid kit, Beelzebub wondered if Gabriel ever had to deal with shit like this. They doubted it. 


End file.
